


Astronomy Lesson

by MindfulWrath



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Power Imbalance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 02:18:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13157121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MindfulWrath/pseuds/MindfulWrath
Summary: Prince Ryan goes up on the castle roofs for an impromptu astronomy practicum, accompanied by his protector and instructor Sir Dooley.Based on @jrmwds Prince/Knight AU. Check 'em out on tumblr! They do Good Work.





	Astronomy Lesson

"Technically I'm not supposed to be up here," says Ryan, traipsing over the steep-slanted tile towards the East Tower.

"I know," Sir Dooley drawls. "That's why I'm chasing you. Hey, stop there, your Highness. You'll break your royal neck."

"Jeremy, are you giving me _orders?"_ Ryan asks, looking back over his shoulder just to quirk an eyebrow at his attendant knight. "You _dare_ to presume to give the crown prince _orders?"_

"I dare to presume the crown prince is a little turd," says Jeremy.

"I could throw you off this roof, and nothing bad would happen to me," he points out.

"You presume a lot about your own close-combat sparring skills, your Highness," Jeremy drawls.

Ryan scrambles up a gable and onto the next roof over. Jeremy follows, because that's what Jeremy does, when he isn't kicking Ryan's royal ass.

It's fine. That's what he's there for.

"Is there any _reason,"_ Jeremy says, watching his feet, "that we _have_ to go up on the roof to do this? It couldn't be, like, a field somewhere?"

"Sure," says Ryan. "It's because I'm not supposed to be up here, and I—"

"Don't like being told what to do," Jeremy sighs. Ryan can _hear_ the eye-roll.

"You didn't _have_ to come," he says.

"Yes, actually, I _did,_ because it's my job to keep you alive."

"You're off-duty."

"Uh, no I'm not?"

"I'm the prince, and I say you're off-duty, so unless my father says something different—and I don't see him up here—you're now off-duty."

"I can see the diplomacy lessons are going well," Jeremy drawls.

"What, you want me to _not_ throw my weight around? I thought that's what you were teaching me."

"I'm teaching you how to _not die_ if somebody draws a sword on you. Or a crossbow. Or a mace. Or daggers, or a quarterstaff, or—"

 _"_ _Or or or,_ you sound like a seal," says Ryan, rolling his eyes.

"And _you_ sound like a brat."

"Jeremy," he warns, smiling back at him. "I could have you executed~"

"Sure, if you were a little brat."

Ryan stops, pinching his lips together in a tight smile. Jeremy walks right up to him, almost a foot shorter, just as broad, with enough steel in his bones to crack an anvil in half. Ryan reaches out and plucks at Jeremy's sleeve, distasteful.

"We have _got_ to get you dressed better," he says. "You don't look nearly royal enough."

"I wear what all the king's guard wears," says Jeremy.

"And it's hideous."

"Did you bring me all the way up here to critique my fashion choices?"

Ryan moves his hand up a ways, tugs on a loose curl of Jeremy's hair. Jeremy leans into the touch, half an inch before he stops himself.

"And you wear your hair too long," says Ryan.

"So you're a brat _and_ a hypocrite," Jeremy says, gesturing to Ryan's ponytail.

"I'm the prince, I can do whatever I want."

"Including dragging one of the king's guard up onto a dangerous rooftop for—what, nothing?"

"Astronomy practicum," says Ryan. He's still toying with that lock of hair, twirling it around his finger. He sees no reason to stop—Jeremy's clearly enjoying it.

"And does your most esteemed professor _know_ about this practicum?"

"Of course not."

"Your Highness—"

"I told you, when we're alone—"

"Your _Highness,_ I find this immensely inapp—"

"Jeremy~" he sings. "Don't make me order you~~"

He rolls his eyes and sighs and throws his hands up.

 _"_ _Ryan,_ we shouldn't _be_ here," he says. "Not you and I, not . . . alone."

"I know," says Ryan.

"And yet," says Jeremy, gesturing to the two of them, here, alone. Ryan smiles and shrugs.

"I do whatever I want," he says. "And nobody tells me otherwise."

"Your father told you otherwise."

"And he's old, and he'll be dead soon, and Jeremy~" He twinkles. "He doesn't have to know~"

"If anybody finds out, _Ryan,_ I'm the one getting stoned to death," says Jeremy.

"I wouldn't let anybody hurt you."

"You wouldn't get a say in it."

He scoffs. "Of course I would, I'm the _prince."_

Jeremy reaches up and takes Ryan's wrist—on the sleeve, no skin touching skin—and moves his hand away. Ryan lets himself be moved, even though his heart is shriveling in his chest.

"Ryan," says Jeremy. "Please."

For a moment, there is silence. Their breaths mist the air between them. The sky is brilliant above, a tapestry with ten million diamonds sewn through it. Ryan sits down, slowly. Jeremy starts to let go of his wrist, so Ryan catches his instead. Jeremy sits. Ryan leans up against him.

Very, _very_ carefully, Jeremy puts an arm around Ryan's waist.

And Ryan says, "I need something."

"Oh, of course," Jeremy sighs. He nudges Ryan. "But I thought I was off-duty."

"You are," says Ryan. He takes a deep breath. He watches the stars, because the stars do not know the meaning of the word _lonely._ "I can't kiss you."

"Hahah," says Jeremy, sounding panicked. "Of—of course you . . . _could._ If you wanted to. You're the prince, and all. You can do whatever you—"

"I _can't_ kiss you," Ryan says again. "Because you _can't_ tell me _no."_

Jeremy gets very quiet. His hand is so warm against Ryan's side, the blood quick in his veins. He is so small but so _alive_ and so _real_ and so inevitably, inescapably _honest._ There's not a shred of diplomacy in Jeremy. There wasn't room.

"Ryan," he says. "Look at me."

"Why?"

"Just because."

So Ryan looks at him.

And Jeremy takes Ryan's face in his hands, and leans in, and with more tenderness than Ryan has ever known, presses their lips together.

Ryan has never kissed anyone before. He isn't quite sure what to do.

Jeremy pulls back and meets his eyes. The stars there are more beautiful than any Ryan has seen before. His cheeks are flushed, his nose red from the cold, his breath coming short with abject, trembling terror. Ryan touches his face. He presses their lips together again. Jeremy leans into him, loops one arm around his shoulders, and Ryan slips an arm around Jeremy's waist because he isn't, he _cannot be_ close enough.

"Jeremy," he breathes, aching for something, wanting so desperately it feels like he'll die. "Jeremy, I—teach me."

"Teach you what?" says Jeremy, breathless as well, trembling as well. He's so warm, so warm and so real and so close, but Ryan needs him closer, needs _more._

"Everything," says Ryan, gripping the collar of Jeremy's shirt. "Anything."

Jeremy pauses a second, and then grins like Ryan's never seen him grin before.

"Well," he says, "since you _are_ my pupil. Let's start with showing you the French technique. . . ."

And he does, and it's _ingenious._


End file.
